Yellow
by Lune-Solei
Summary: Pre-movie. Arthur and Eames watch the Cobb children while Mal's mental stability disintegrates. Will contain SLASH in later chapters. Focuses on Arthur, Eames, Mal, Cobb, and the children. " In which Eames makes Arthur moan, James learns a new game, Phillipa kills Elmo, Mal and Cobb pick up their children and Arthur is unconvinced.."
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Yellow

**Chapter:** 1/11

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Inception.

**Pairing/Characters:** Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary: **In which Eames makes terrible innuendos, Phillipa likes yellow, and Arthur questions Eames' motives.

**Author's Note:** So this was my first Inception!fic. I originally posted it over at my LJ (in case it looks familiar) but I'm transferring it over here while I edit it up somewhat. Please let me know what you think. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Mal drops Phillipa off on her way home from the doctor's. James is sitting in his car seat, his face blotchy from crying the fifteen minutes between stops. The windows in the car are rolled down so Mal can hear him. Arthur stands on the doorstep and invites them in but Mal glances over her shoulder at James and then back to Arthur.

"I can't, but thank you." She smiles a little ruefully and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. She's been wearing it shorter now since the children were born and he kind of misses the long curls. "Thank you, Arthur. The doctor said it would be best for them both to be exposed but I can't handle both crying and scratching at the same time." As if remembering she turns back to the car. "James, mon petit, no scratching!"

The little boy scrunches up his face and rubs futilely at his arms with his sock covered hands. Arthur huffs a laugh and rests a hand on Phillipa's head, fingers curling into her fair hair. "Its okay, Mal. No problem, we'll have fun, right Pip?" Phillipa just turns her face up to smile at him.

"Nevertheless, I will bring over a suitcase with her things later . After I have taken care of James. Be good ma cherie," she murmurs. She presses a kiss to Phillipa's forehead.

"Bye, Mommy. Come on Uncle Arthur, I wants to make cookies. With sprinkles." Mal laughs as she watches Arthur being towed away by her daughter.

"Cookies, huh?" she hears Arthur question before the door is closed and she is otherwise occupied with a crying two year old.

/

He wants to slam the door shut immediately. He deserves it for not checking to make sure that he knew the person, let alone _wanted_ a visit from them. He had honestly thought it was Mal coming by with some of Phillipa's things though.

He wants to slam the door but by now Eames already has half a shoulder in and Phillipa has spotted him from where she sits at the kitchen table. So really, Arthur can't slam the door because what kind of manners would that teach the girl?

"Didn't your mother teach you to at least say hello, or go away, before slamming the door in their face, Arthur?" Eames questions. He pushes open the door and stands in the hall, smiling. Arthur feels a headache approaching quickly as he quickly fingers his die. Still the proper balance, still reality. _Damn_. "Pippa, darling!" he calls out.

"Eames!" she squeals. Suddenly Eames is pushed back against the wall by an over-excited four-year-old wrapped around his legs. She smiles up at him, blonde bangs falling in her eyes.

"What are you up to?" he questions. He hoists the girl to his hip as he walks further into the apartment. "Close the door, Arthur. We don't want to air condition nature, do we now?"

"Why are you here?" Arthur demands. He closes the door anyway. Phillipa is chattering away about the cookies she's decorating when he finally rejoins them. "Eames?" Arthur tries again. The Brit holds up a hand as he leans over Phillipa's shoulder to study her handiwork.

"And you're telling me _Uncle Arthur_ is letting you use _sprinkles_ in his apartment?" Eames questions. His eyes dart up to look at Arthur and he widens them almost comically. Arthur fights a smile, an exasperated smile he tells himself. "I didn't even know he _had_ sprinkles."

"Yeah," Phillipa replies. She lifts a bowl of pink frosting toward Eames' face. "Wanna try?"

"Of course." He swipes a finger along the rim until his finger is covered in pale pink icing. "Did you make it, Pippa?"

"Uh-huh, and Uncle Arthur."

"It's a charming shade of pink, isn't it Arthur?" Arthur ignores him and stacks the freshly iced cookies on a plate. "And where is young Jamie?"

"Chicken pox," Arthur replies idly.

"Yeah!" Phillipa's face lights up. "He's going to turn into a chicken, right?"

Arthur starts to protest but Eames bends to look her in the face. For a moment Arthur thinks he might do the mature, responsible thing. He's sadly mistaken. "That's right, Pippa. Feathers will sprout and he'll walk around going bock-bock-bock. He'll squawk just like Uncle Arthur does when I hide all his ties."

Phillipa laughs and Arthur narrows his eyes. "It's just an illness, Phillipa. He'll be fine in a few days. It's very itchy though and he can't scratch."

"I like him more better as a chicken," Phillipa replies seriously. She slides off the chair before Arthur can correct her grammar and disappears into the living room where one of the movies Mal had left during their last visit is currently playing. They hear the TV volume rise and Arthur begins to clean up.

"Have a bit more imagination, Arthur. She's a kid and likes to laugh." He looks up just in time for Eames to wink and stick the icing coated finger into his mouth. He sucks on it for a minute before removing it with a satisfied, obscene, _pop_. Arthur narrows his eyes and returns to gathering the icing dishes and knives.

"Mm, delicious," Eames practically purrs. Arthur shoots him a not-quite scandalized look. Eames runs his finger along the bowl of green icing and offers it up to Arthur. "Want a taste?" By the twitch of the other man's smile Arthur is almost positive he isn't talking about the icing anymore.

"Cobb will kill you for using innuendos with Phillipa in the next room."

Eames rests a hip against the table and smirks. "Which one?" he scoffs. He wags the green finger at Arthur's face. "She doesn't even know. She's entranced by the talking animals. Never understood that myself, talking animals are just creepy."

"Why are you here, Eames?" He deposits the dishes in the sink and turns the faucet on to hopefully loosen the icing caked on the bowls. Eames shifts as Arthur's eyes narrow at him. "Well?"

"Suppose I just missed that biting wit, Darling." Arthur makes a frustrated noise and turns back to the dishes. Eames steals a cookie and sprinkles scatter to the floor with his first bite. "Bit heavy on the sugar, hm?"

"There's a broom in there," Arthur points a sudsy hand toward a closed door. Eames rolls his eyes and stuffs the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

"You are positively domestic, Arthur." Arthur glares over his shoulder at him. Eames grins. "It's actually very endearing. Shall I check on our young charge?"

"_Broom_, Eames," Arthur tries. It doesn't work though since the older man has already left the kitchen area. Arthur grits his teeth, scrubs furiously at the icing coated bowls, and wonders how he offended karma so much to be stuck with _two_ children today.

/

Phillipa is snuggled into Eames' arm when Arthur finally works up the will power to enter the living room. Eames glances up and grins lazily. He taps his thigh with his unoccupied hand. "There's still room to snuggle."

"No, thank you." He sits on the other side of Phillipa and downs the two Excedrin in his hand dry. Phillipa's feet press against his thigh. "What would you like to do after the movie, Pip?" he questions. Eames gives him an amused look over her head, Arthur chooses to ignore it.

"I wanna go to the park and swing," she answers. "Daddy promised a swing but now he's _busy_. Mommy doesn't like the park anymore." If a toddler can snort derisively, Phillipa can.

"Well, your mother's supposed-"

"Sounds brilliant, Pippa." Eames tugs on a strand of her hair. "A trip to the park, then a visit to the ice cream shop. Yum."

"Eames…."

"If Mal or Dom needs us then they have one of our cell numbers, right?"

"Yes, but they don't know you're here-"

"Perfect, then I'll leave mine here and you just worry about yours." He wants to protest but when she turns her big eyes on him he just can't. And it's enough to annoy him. "Have some fun, Arthur. Use your imagination a little, this'll be an adventure." He winks and Arthur isn't sure who it's for. It makes him edgy and he focuses on gripping and releasing his die. "Now, tell me, what is that creature's fascination with the acorn?"

"He's a _squirrel_," she replies immediately, as if that answers everything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Yellow

**Chapter:**2/11

**Rating:** PG

**Pairing/Characters:** Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary: **In which Eames makes more innuendos, Phillipa likes yellow, and Arthur is frustrated.

**Author's Note: **Here is the second part. Thanks to everyone who favorited and followed it. :)

* * *

The park isn't such a bad idea after all, Arthur realizes. Eames had insisted on walking, which Arthur had been wary of (the sky had been clouding over), but he'd agreed after Phillipa had taken Eames' side. The traitor. But the park itself is nice. There is a strong breeze that ruffles the trees overhead. The darkening clouds are being pushed along quickly while still giving shade. A few children play on the jungle gym loudly, screaming and laughing and hitting.

Phillipa had headed straight for the yellow swing set next to the benches. To Arthur's amusement, and satisfaction, she had dragged Eames along with her. She'd positioned him behind the swing and then crawled onto the plastic yellow seat. She reclined back, fingers looping around the chain and apparently ordered Eames to push her. The man had bowed theatrically and, for once in his life, obeyed an order.

That was twenty-five minutes ago though and it doesn't look like Phillipa has any intention of ever vacating her swing. Honestly, who came up with the idea of lounge chairs for swings? Phillipa waves with each swing and he smiles back at her. He ignores the looks Eames is sending him and tries vainly to figure out why the forger decided to show up.

More children and parents begin to turn up. Arthur glances up from the text he's trying to send Mal when the spot next to him on the bench is taken. A woman with short hair and a sunburned nose smiles at him. "Hello," she says pleasantly.

"Hello." He turns back to the text message. _At park with Phillipa and Eames. How's James?_ Somehow it doesn't convey his annoyance enough, and he _really_ wants someone to convey his annoyance to. He wonders if he should vent to Cobb. He's sure Cobb had something to do with this new development. Maybe a new job that he hasn't had time to tell him about. Maybe. Except then why would Eames know already? Unless Eames told Cobb about it...?

A boy somewhere between Phillipa and James' ages toddles up. He demands juice from the woman sitting next to him. She laughs and pulls out a juice cup. He tries the text again. _At park with Phillipa. And Eames. Why is Eames here? How's James?_ Better, not perfect but better. The boy by his knee runs off back to the sandbox and the woman sighs.

"It's rare to see men around the park." She smiles brightly at him when he glances at her. "Which one is yours?"

"Pardon?"

"Child. Which child is yours?"

"Oh, I'm-"

He's cut off by the voice calling across the playground. "Would you mind taking over for me, Darling? My arms are worn out." Arthur winces as he looks up to see Eames grinning at him.

"Oh," the woman says. He isn't sure if he should be annoyed or relieved at the assumption in her voice. "Well, she's adorable."

He could try to explain, he supposes, but doesn't bother since now Eames has got Phillipa calling for him plaintively. He rolls his eyes and stands, snaps his phone shut without remembering to hit send. He crosses the play area carefully, thankful it's on that new spongy material and not woodchips, or worse – sand. When he reaches the swings though Phillipa is sliding off.

"I thought you wanted me to push you?"

"I want ice cream now. It's hot."

"And I'm hungry," Eames adds.

"You had three cookies and a banana before we left," Arthur protests.

Eames winks. "The banana was purely for your enjoyment," he replies.

Arthur turns an alarming shade of red; it's the heat, the anger, not any form of embarrassment. Phillipa tilts her head and studies them both. "But you didn't _share_ with him."

"You're absolutely right. I'll have to share another banana with him, later."

"Eames, this is entirely inappropriate talk around a child." His eyes narrow. "Anyway, we both know your banana is too small to share."

Eames sputters and his neck flushes. "Excuse me? I think you need to speak up since clearly I'm not hearing correctly. Too _small_?"

"It was tiny," Phillipa agrees. Arthur chuckles while Eames looks like he's about to choke. A tiny hand tugs at Arthur's rolled up sleeve. "Ice cream now?"

"Yes, double scoop for you too." Phillipa grins and skips ahead. Eames takes the opportunity to trip Arthur when they reach the sidewalk.

"You should really watch your step, Arthur."

/

Eames has Phillipa hoisted up on one hip, waiting for Arthur to get back with the ice cream. Phillipa stares at the display of jewelry and trinkets at the stand in front of them. Her small fingers pat Eames' face until he stops looking in the direction of the ice cream shop.

"What is it, Pippa?" he questions. She has one thumb in her mouth, a habit she lost two years ago, and her other hand points to the display of glittery things. Eames edges closer and Phillipa turns her head to see better. "You like something?"

"Lots of pretty things," the woman minding the stand says. She smiles at them as she gestures to a bowl of beaded bracelets. "Little girls love bracelets. I'm sure your daughter would like one too."

"He's not my daddy," Phillipa replies. Her words are muffled around her thumb.

"Oh, is he your uncle? How old are you, Sweetie?"

She holds up four fingers and the woman smiles. "He's Eames," she says simply. Her hand fists in his collar.

"You want a bracelet?" He keeps the tone light as he glances over the plastic beads. She shakes her head and tightens her arm around his neck. She removes her thumb from her mouth and points again. Not to the bracelets but to a basket of silver rings with different colored glass insets. "A ring?"

"Ah, a mood ring," the woman announces. She adjusts the basket so it's more accessible to them. Eames frowns at it. "The colors change to indicate the mood you're in. We have cards to describe them."

"Mommy had one."

"Yeah? What happened to it?" He sees Arthur exit the shop with the ice cream. He gives a slight wave to draw his attention. Arthur nods and Eames can see a frown marring his face. Eames raises an eyebrow curiously as Arthur skirts an elderly couple and their dog. "Pippa?"

"Mommy put it down the sink. She hit the button that lets the pipe monster eat the leftovers." Eames has to think about that, best he can manage is she means the garbage disposal. He frowns and shifts her weight slightly. "I want one."

"Alright." He waves at Arthur impatiently once more then leans over the basket with Phillipa. She picks at the rings, ignores the card displaying the moods, and fingers the smooth bands. Her hand closes on one and she pulls it out, holds it up to Eames' face so he can see. He needs to crane his neck back to get enough distance not to go cross-eyed. "This the one you want then?"

She slips the ring on in response. It's a pale, pale yellow. Kind of murky around the edges. The woman notices and frowns. "That one doesn't seem to be working, how about a different one?"

"I like lelow." Arthur joins them by now and Phillipa's reaching for her strawberry ice cream, double scoop as promised. "Look, Uncle Arthur, Eames got me a ring." She shoves her hand into his face.

"Aren't they supposed to change co-?"

Eames ignores the look Arthur sends him after his foot connects with Arthur's shin. "It's lovely, Pippa." He sets her on the ground and pulls out his wallet. While the woman is getting his change he checks the card and smiles. "Suits you perfect." He sends a side long look at Arthur. "Want one too, Darling?"

"No." He shoves the ice cream into Eames' hand once he's properly tucked away the change.

"Hey! There's a bite missing from my mint chocolate chip!" Phillipa laughs. She slides her free hand into Arthur's and swings it back and forth as they head back to the apartment. Arthur checks his phone, frowns at it. "You stole some of my ice cream!"

"I bought your ice cream," Arthur replies.

Eames frowns. "Well, yes, but I noticed Pippa's was perfectly fine."

Arthur arches a brow and has the audacity to curl the corner of his mouth into a semblance of a smile. "I'm allergic to strawberries, remember?"

"Oh, right." He rubs a hand through his hair and looks at the clouds rolling in. "Mal called?"

Arthur shakes his head, tucks the phone back in his pocket. "No, I left her a message while in line. She hasn't called back yet." He squeezes Phillipa's hand. "How's the ice cream?"

"Good." She has a pink face and some of it dribbles down to her shirt. Arthur wishes he'd brought more napkins with him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 3/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary**: In which Eames plays with bubbles, Phillipa is bouncy, and Arthur hears from Cobb.

**Author's Note**: And unto the third part! I hope you all continue to enjoy it. :)

* * *

"Mal, it's Arthur again. We're back at my apartment, still waiting to hear what's happening. Are you still coming by? Hope all is well with James. Call Eames or me later." Eames looks up as Arthur leans against the bathroom door. Phillipa's in the tub splashing about with some of the toys left over from the kids' last extended stay. Eames is crouched next to the tub, trying to wipe Phillipa's face off with a duck-shaped washcloth. "No answer."

"You call Dom?"

"Not yet. I don't want to worry him unnecessarily." Eames nods; they both know Cobb can get a bit anxious when it concerns his wife or children. "Have enough bubbles in there?" He gestures to the tub where bubbles are climbing halfway up the tiled wall. Phillipa looks scandalized, Eames matches it.

"No!" Phillipa exclaims.

"Arthur, there is no such thing as enough bubbles. There are in fact not enough bubbles in the world to even be considered too many. Right, Pippa?"

"Right."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "When she disappears under all that you can explain it to Cobb." His eyes narrow as Eames leans over the tub. "What are you doing?" Eames sits back with a handful of bubbles. He grins and wriggles his eyebrows. "Don't you dare."

Eames ignores him, typical. He puckers and blows and suddenly Arthur is being assaulted by shimmering bubbles. Phillipa giggles and claps her hands together. She's wearing her ring still, Arthur notices. "Much better."

Arthur's eyes narrow. A moment later he's crouched on the ground next to Eames, with a handful of bubbles pointed in his direction. Eames raises his hands in surrender, lazy grin still covering his face. Arthur isn't sure how but suddenly they're involved in a three way bubble fight. His bathroom is covered in soap bubbles; the rug is soaked with the water Phillipa splashes out as she joins in.

Arthur's hair is now loose, his shirt soaked in parts, spotted in others. Eames has a large bubble somehow balancing on top of his head. Phillipa laughs and reaches out to grab his face. "I want to pop," she tells him. Obediently he leans forward and Phillipa removes a hand so that she can poke the bubble. Her laughter echoes in the tiny bathroom.

"I'm hungry," she announces.

"What do you want?" Eames questions. "Soup, broccoli, bananas?"

Phillipa swats at more bubbles and wrinkles her nose. "No, I want tuna fish."

"Tuna fish!" Eames exclaims. He falls back as if punched. Arthur chuckles. "What self respecting child wants tuna fish?"

"Obviously, an extremely intelligent one," Arthur responds. "With apple slices."

"Red ones," Phillipa instructs. "And a cookie too."

Slowly Arthur stands, ignores the way Eames' eyes follow his movements from the ground. "I'm going to get changed, no more bubbles, Eames. I'll make your lunch after, while Eames gets you dry, okay?"

"Okay," Phillipa responds. Arthur nudges Eames with his foot.

"Alright," Eames replies finally. He sits up again and finally turns his attention to Phillipa. Arthur pretends he doesn't hear Eames whisper loudly to Phillipa, "What does he know? Another half a bottle should be good, yeah?"

"Yeah," Phillipa whispers back just as loud.

* * *

The phone rings while Eames is trying to fight Phillipa into her clothing. "Really now, Pippa, Uncle Arthur will not like you jumping on his bed" just doesn't seem to work with her. He wonders if he'll be blamed for the pillows on the floor and the wrinkles in the bedding. Probably, if he knows Arthur.

He hears Arthur's voice carry from the kitchen. It rises and then drops suddenly. All he can make out is Mal's name. He frowns as Phillipa bounces closer. "Jumpy, jumpy, jumpy," she chants over and over. He wonders if he was this bad when he was an ankle-biter.

"Gotcha!" He lunges and catches her. She falls to the bed giggling and he has a mouth full of blonde hair. Phillipa's legs kick out as she tugs at his hair. "Uh-uh. You're getting dressed."

"No!" she shrieks. She trails off into more giggles as Eames tickles her sides. She rolls over and tries to crawl away. Eames shakes his head and sits up, pulling Phillipa onto his lap. With one hand locked around her stomach he uses the other hand to pull her dress over her head.

Phillipa finally settles down and even helps him pull up her tights. She sits on the edge of the bed and swings her legs back and forth while he goes into the master bath to grab a comb. Eames can't hear Arthur's voice anymore and he frowns again. Phillipa looks at him when he returns. Her eyebrows draw together, her eyes widen, and her lips pucker out like a fish's. Eames raises an eyebrow at her.

"Smile!" she instructs. She follows her own advice and grins. Eames chuckles and runs the comb through her hair. "Braid it like Mommy does."

"How does your mommy braid it?"

"From here all the way down." She gestures from the top of her head to the ends of her hair.

"French braid?" She nods. He mutters under his breath. "Okay, no promises on whether it'll look the same though." She begins to sing Alouette happily. He's tying her elastic, a stringy hair tie in a rainbow of colors, around the end when Arthur appears in the bedroom doorway. He glances between his messed up bed, to Phillipa's braided hair, to Eames. His mouth curves slightly even as his eyes look dark.

"Hi, Uncle Arthur!"

"Hello, Phillipa. Why don't you go have your sandwich, I need to talk to Eames."

Eames wiggles his eyebrows once Phillipa has skipped out. He flops back on the bed, twists on his side and stares at Arthur lecherously. "Something you wanted, Darling?"

"Mal's at the hospital."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 4/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary**: In which Eames is confused, Phillipa hugs a caterpillar, and Arthur relaxes.

**Author's Note**: Bringing you Part Four.

* * *

"What happened?" Eames questions finally. He sits up, hands resting on his knees. Arthur approaches slowly, sinks onto the bed next to him. Eames hesitates a moment before his arm wraps around Arthur's shoulders. "Arthur?"

Arthur's shoulders relax slightly and he half turns to Eames. "Cobb said there was an accident," his voice is flat . Eames knows that tone; it's the same tone he uses when he thinks Eames is exaggerating. Disbelief. "Cobb couldn't get a hold of her so he went to check on her. He found James crying and Mal passed out in bed."

Eames frowns. "Passed out? Do they know what's wrong?"

"She was having trouble sleeping. Cobb found a pill bottle next to her, empty." Arthur runs a hand through his hair, sighs, and then straightens his shoulders.

"Bloody hell," Eames groans. "Does Cobb need us to pick up James?"

Arthur shakes his head. He leans into Eames for a moment before standing. "No, Cobb's on his way over with James and an overnight bag." He hesitates at the door and looks back at Eames. "I'm going to pull out the sofa bed in the office. Are you staying?"

Eames snorts. "Of course. I'm not going to leave you alone with two ankle-biters." He falls back on the bed. "Besides, your bed was always the most comfortable." Arthur snorts as he leaves the room. Eames waits until he hears the office door open before he lets the smile slip from his face.

* * *

Cobb arrives twenty minutes later.

James is asleep on his shoulder. His socks have been replaced with mittens that look to be taped around his wrists. Cobb's face is grey, his mouth set into a line. Phillipa comes pelting through the living room door when she hears him greet Arthur. Eames arrives in time to see Arthur taking James from Cobb so he can pick up his daughter.

Arthur strides past Eames, spares him a small smile, and disappears into the small office. He returns a few minutes later, child free. Cobb holds Phillipa, smiles at her. "Look what Eames got me, Daddy."

"That's very pretty. Have you been good?"

"Yeah." She smiles brightly and tugs at his collar. "Are we going home now, Daddy?"

"No, Phillipa. You're going to have to stay here tonight, with your brother."

"Why?" Her face pulls into a tight frown. "I want to go home with you and Mommy."

"No, Phillipa. You like it here at Uncle Arthur's, right? And you're having fun." He crouches and sets her on the ground. His hands rest on her shoulders as he looks her in the eye. "I brought you some toys, and the movie with the dinosaurs. You'll have fun."

"Yeah, Pippa," Eames echoed. "We'll make banana sundaes and popcorn and watch your movie, and stay up late so that Arthur can actually sleep in for once."

"I sleep in!" Arthur protests.

Phillipa sucks in her bottom lip. "What about you and Mommy? Won't you miss me?"

"Of course, Sweetheart. We'll miss both of you, but Mommy's not well. Mommy has to go to the doctor's."

"Does she have chicken pox too?"

"No, she doesn't." He kisses her forehead and stands. "I have to get back to check on Mommy now. I love you, Phillipa."

"Come on, Phillipa. Show me this movie of yours." Eames takes her hand in one hand, the overnight bag in another.

She hesitates a moment. "Okay, Daddy. I love you too. Make sure Mommy takes her med-cine." She lets Eames lead her down the hall. "This is a good movie, can we watch it now?" Eames chuckles as they disappear into the kitchen.

Arthur looks at Cobb. "How is she?"

"Stable, they said." His voice cracks and he takes a deep breath. "It was an accident, Arthur." Arthur nods and bites his tongue. "Thank you. I packed their pajamas and James' medicine in the bag Eames took."

"It's okay, Dom," Arthur says. He clasps a hand to Cobb's shoulder. "No problem. Let us know if anything changes."

Cobb nods. He hesitates a moment before turning and exiting the apartment. Arthur sighs as he locks the door behind him.

* * *

"Budge up, Darling." Arthur narrows his eyes but scoots over obligingly. Eames flops down into the vacated spot, the bowl of fresh made popcorn in his lap. Phillipa has her arms wrapped around the pink and green stuffed caterpillar Mal got her for her last birthday. James is still asleep in the office. "Hey, didn't we watch this one earlier?"

"No," Phillipa replies. She reaches in and grabs a handful of popcorn.

"I distinctly remember that creature."

"It's a squirrel," Phillipa reminds.

"Then I remember that squirrel."

Arthur makes an exasperated noise. Eames opens his mouth to reply but Arthur stuffs a handful of popcorn into it. "Will you just be quiet?" he hisses.

Eames mutters under his breath. Phillipa doesn't seem to notice. She squishes in against his side to have better access to the popcorn. Arthur settles back into the couch, feet propped on the coffee table and leans back into Eames's right arm. Eames grins the few times he catches Arthur's quiet chuckles beneath Phillipa's giggles.

"Okay, I may not be any good at math, but I was pretty good with history. And that is totally wrong," Eames exclaims once the popcorn is all gone. Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. "Dinosaurs were not around with mammoths or sloths or saber toothed tigers or nut obsessed squirrels!"

"Eames, it's a cartoon, for children," Arthur protests. He half turns and the arm Eames has wrapped around his shoulders slips off. "Name one accurate children's cartoon."

Phillipa turns to look at Eames as well. "They live _under_ the ice. Nobody knows they're there." Her face turns thoughtful. "Uncle Arthur, are there still dinosaurs underground?"

"No, Phillipa. Dinosaurs have been extinct for a long, long time."

"What does ex stink mean?"

"It means dead, gone," Eames answers. Arthur narrows his eyes at him and Eames plasters on his most innocent expression.

Phillipa turns this over in her head. Then she snorts and lies down, head resting on the caterpillar. "No, they're still here," she responds. Her eyes are getting heavier, are already half closed.

"Let it go," Arthur whispers into Eames's ear. His breath tickles and makes the older man shudder.

"Honestly, Darling, I thought you'd be more worked up about this," Eames murmurs. "You do love accuracy."

"_Not_ in my cartoons," he mumbles back. Eames smirks back.

"Good to know." He grabs the blanket off the back of the sofa and drapes it over Phillipa. She doesn't stir. "Tell me, does that squirrel _ever_ get the bloody nut?" Arthur chuckles and rests his head on Eames' shoulder.

"You'll just have to wait and see."


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 5/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary**: In which Eames wears a hat, Phillipa uses shot glasses, James hates oatmeal, and Arthur has a list.

**Author's Note**: Part Five! Also, I'd like to say that my nephew is the inspiration behind all the _Ice Age_ references. Because in the two weeks since he discovered the movies I ended up watching them seventy-three times.

* * *

Arthur extracts himself from Eames and the couch once the credits start rolling. Eames glances up at him curiously. "Going somewhere?"

"Yes, can you watch the children? I need to run to the store and pick up a few things." Eames shrugs as Arthur removes the DVD. "Please, don't burn the house down or scar the children-"

"If you're that worried over them then write me a list and _I'll _go to the store," Eames grumbles. To his surprise Arthur makes a hm-ing sound and then disappears into the kitchen. Eames mutters and flips to the news network.

Arthur returns a few minutes later. Eames looks up at him when there's a piece of paper shoved in his face. "Here's the list, do you need any money?"

"I'll manage." He stands with a yawn and stretches. The vertebrae in his back pop and crack. "Honestly, no faith. I'm very good with children." He takes the list though and scans it. "Alright, I'll be back in a bit. Can I have a key at least?"

"Top drawer," Arthur replies. He points in the general direction of the front hall. Eames nods, already knowing which cabinet he's referring to. "Just the list items, Eames!"

"Of course."

James stumbles out after Arthur has settled into Eames' vacated spot. Phillipa's still asleep, breathing steadily. Arthur adjusts the blanket around her shoulders. James comes to stand in front of him. His face is splotchy and his hair is sticking to his forehead and cheeks. Arthur mutes the television and presses a hand to James' forehead. "How do you feel?"

"Itchy," he mumbles. He raises a mitten covered hand to his neck. A rthur swats his hands away gently. "Where's Daddy?"

"He's at the doctor's with your Mommy, making sure she's okay." James's hand moves to his belly. "Don't scratch, James."

James pouts. "It's itchy!" he whines.

Arthur sighs. "We'll get you into the bathtub when Eames gets back. Let's get you some water though. Come on."

James peers up at him as they head to the kitchen. "Why we gotta wait for Eames?"

Arthur grabs a plastic cup and fills it halfway. "He's getting the oatmeal. Here, sip." He helps James hold the cup and drink.

"I don't like oatmeal," James protests. Arthur sighs and ruffles his hair. "It's gross!"

* * *

"Honey, I'm _home_!" Eames calls as he kicks the door shut behind him. He peeks into the living room and sees Phillipa sprawled across the sofa still. Her caterpillar has fallen to the floor. Eames smiles and heads into the kitchen.

"Must you be so loud?" Arthur snaps. He's in the office unpacking the overnight bag while simultaneously keeping James from scratching. Eames hums and begins to unpack the groceries. "Do you have the oatmeal?"

"Catch." He tosses the box of oatmeal without waiting for acknowledgment. Arthur snatches the box before it crashes. "How're you holding up, Jamie?"

"Itchy."

Eames nods at him. "Yeah, it's no fun being sick."

"Uncle Arthur, I no _want_ oatmeal. I no _like_ oatmeal!" James protests. He crosses his arms firmly over his chest as Arthur heads for the bathroom. "I no want it! It's yucky!" he yells.

Eames hears Phillipa stir as he puts away the last of the groceries. Arthur drops to a knee in front of James. "You don't have to eat it, James. It'll be like a bubble bath, only with oatmeal to stop the itching. Come on." James looks at him through squinty eyes as if trying to detect the lie. "Come on."

"I no have to eat it?"

"You don't have to eat it."

James thinks on it a moment longer. A finger scratches at his elbow through thick blue material. "Okay." Eames smiles as Arthur manages to finally usher him into the bathroom.

* * *

The apartment is suspiciously quiet. Arthur peeks his head out of the bathroom door and glances around for Eames or Phillipa. He almost chokes trying to stifle his laugh. Phillipa and Eames are sitting cross legged at the coffee table across from each other. The caterpillar sits at the end (the head?) of the table. Phillipa has one of her hats on Eames' head, a pair of sunglasses on the caterpillar, and a scarf wrapped around her own neck.

They're using a water pitcher and _shot glasses_ as a tea set.

Eames catches sight of him and smiles at him briefly through the doorways. Arthur raises an eyebrow before ducking back into the bathroom. He doesn't need to see what Phillipa would want him to wear. James is making _vroom-vroom_ noises as he runs a metallic green car along the bathtub rim. Occasionally the car spins out and disappears into the vat of oatmeal only to be found when James sits or steps on it.

"How's the itching?"

"Not itchy now." He smiles up at Arthur. He yawns and rubs at his face. A smear of the oatmeal saturated water is left on his cheek and nose. Arthur smiles back at him.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned off. I'll put on the lotion your daddy brought, okay?"

James wrinkles his nose. "But it's pink. Boys no like pink!"

"Nonsense," Arthur responds. "Eames is wearing a lovely pink hat right this minute." James shifts and tries to peer out the door . "You'll have to get dressed to see him."

James hesitates a moment more. Finally he yawns again and stands. "Okay. I wanna see the pink hat." Arthur smirks and tries to remember where he left his camera.

* * *

"But you watched the movie earlier." Phillipa doesn't seem to buy Arthur's logic. Her elbow connects with her brother's shoulder. James seems to take the hint.

"I didn't see it! I wanna see dino saws!"

Arthur turns to Eames for support. Eames is currently using the blank TV screen as a mirror to model Phillipa's pink hat, purple sunglasses, and orange scarf. Arthur suppresses a groan and tries a different approach. "What about the one with the melting ice?" Phillipa's arms cross. "Or that other one you like? With the lost fish? You left it here last time."

"Not _Nemo_. We wanna watch Dinosaurs!"

"I agree with the little ones," Eames says. He pulls off the hat and drops it on Phillipa's head. She practically beams at him. "It's always good to watch movies more than once, in case you miss something."

"I don't miss anything," Arthur protests when Eames stares at him longer than strictly necessary.

"No, probably not. Personally I don't like to assume my own perception skills. And I did love that scene with the tar waxing."

Arthur snorts. "You would."

Eames ignores him and claps his hands together. "So, we watch this movie, and then we can make dinner."

Arthur's head turns fast enough to give him whiplash. He eyes Eames as he pops in the DVD. He drapes the scarf around James's neck and drops the sunglasses on the caterpillar once more. Arthur finds himself squished into a corner of the sofa, Eames pressed snug against him. Phillipa curls up against Eames while James rests his head on the armrest.

"What do you mean _make dinner_?" Arthur whispers.

Eames shrugs. "Figured we could make some pizza from scratch. They like pizza, right?"

"Do you know _how_ to make pizza from scratch?"

"Sure, had to forge an Italian chef who was famous for his pizzas." He smiled. "Speaking of, what do you think of the scarf? It'd be nice on a forgery wouldn't it?"

Arthur sighs. "Just watch the movie; you don't want to miss anything again."

"Sarcasm really doesn't suit you, Darling," Eames sighs forlornly.

The kids burst into laughter though as the squirrel plummets to the ground below. Arthur grins as Eames joins in the laughter. He can almost pretend that they're visiting for a happier reason. He makes a mental note to call Cobb if he hasn't heard from him by dinner.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 6/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary**: In which Eames steals whipped cream, Phillipa wakes James, James wears magic gloves, and Arthur talks with Cobb.

**Author's Note**: Presenting Part Six. Sorry for the delay, I could have sworn I uploaded this ages ago.

* * *

"Wake your brother, Pippa."

"I like him when he sleeps."

Eames chuckles. "That may be, but he'll miss out on making dinner. And he might not sleep later." Phillipa sucks on her thumb and stares up at Eames. Eames sighs. "I'd do it but I need to have a word with Arthur first."

"Oh, fine!" she exclaims.

Eames watches her stomp out of the kitchen before he turns to Arthur. "Alright there, Darling?" Arthur sets down the jar of tomato sauce a little more forceful than necessary.

"Fine, why?" Eames shrugs and goes back to running the block of cheese over the grater.

"You don't think it was an accident." Arthur isn't sure if that's supposed to be a question or a statement. He settles on not answering and searches for the proper pan size. They can hear Phillipa trying to entice James out of a nap. "I don't either."

"Mal wouldn't try and kill herself," Arthur whispers harshly. Eames shrugs and bumps against Arthur on his way to the refrigerator. Arthur feels every muscle tense.

"Maybe not," Eames mutters against his ear, "usually, but from what Pippa's told me? I don't think she's all there right now."

Arthur turns his head so he can eye Eames over his shoulder. "What has she told you?"

They're interrupted by Phillipa dragging James into the kitchen. Eames steps away and places the cheese back in the fridge. "Now can we make pizza?" Phillipa pleads. Eames grins.

"Of course, we need to wash your hands first though. Maybe put some gloves over James's mittens so we don't get fuzz in the sauce." He turns to look at Arthur. "You have got gloves, haven't you?"

"You know I do. The last time you were here you used them as balloons."

"Excellent!" Arthur thinks that Eames sounds too excited for this. He pulls the box of latex free gloves out from below the sink anyway.

* * *

"And now, the toppings!"

Arthur closes the bedroom door to block out Eames' voice. He automatically fingers the totem in his pocket as he sits on the bed. "…Say she should make a full recovery. She's still not awake though, even after they pumped her stomach. They have her on a ventilator." Cobb pauses and it sounds like he's choking back a sob. "That's normal, right? Having her on the ventilator?"

Arthur releases his totem so he can rub at the bridge of his nose. "I don't know, I think so. Until she wakes anyway it should be normal. I've never dealt with this situation before though, Cobb."

Cobb's voice follows a harsh rush of air. His tone isn't much softer. "It's not a _situation_, Arthur. It was an accident."

"Is that what the doctors say?" Arthur demands.

"How are the children doing?" Cobb asks instead.

Arthur takes a deep breath, counts to ten. "They're doing well enough. They're making pizza with Eames right now."

"Even James?"

"He's wearing gloves over his mittens. I gave him an oatmeal bath to stop the itching for awhile." He stands and cracks the door open. He can hear James' laughter carry down the hall. Something about olives? He decides to investigate later. "Do you want to talk to them?"

"No, no. I should be getting back. Arthur…"

"They can stay as long as you need them to, Dom."

He thinks he hears a thank you before the dial tone.

* * *

"I put on the olives," Phillipa states proudly.

"I did the cheese!" James adds. "Cheese is more good than olives." He puffs up his chest proudly while Phillipa pulls on his sleeve.

Arthur smiles at them. Eames ambles over and ruffles both of the kids' hair. "Well, _I_ put it in the oven, can't get much better than that." Arthur snorts and Eames glances at him. "What?"

"You're competing with children?"

"Am not. Come on, sit down, it's nearly finished." Eames shoves a pair of gloves into Arthur's hand. He looks down at them skeptically.

"What're these for?"

"We're all wearing them, since Jamie has to. Isn't that right?" The boy nods as he climbs onto the kitchen chair. "It'll be fun; you'll like them since it will keep your hands free of tomato sauce."

Arthur bristles at that, aiming a well practiced glare at Eames. He pretends not to notice as he shoos Phillipa to the table. "Uncle Arthur, put on your hand protectors," Phillipa instructs. She kneels on the seat cushion and smiles at him.

"Hand protectors?"

"It keeps the pizza sauce monsters away," James chimes in. He beams. "The olives are their _eyes_."

Arthur turns slowly, deliberately, and stares at Eames. "What have you told them?"

"Just play along." He wiggles his own glove covered fingers before donning an oven mitt. "Right then, pizza's done." He opens the oven with a flourish to retrieve the pizza while Arthur sits next to James and across from Phillipa. Arthur pulls on the gloves and wriggles his fingers until they fit right.

"You shoulda seen him throw the pizza! It went up, up, up!" James exclaims. He waves his arms around in demonstration.

"It almost hit the _ceiling_," Phillipa adds.

"But it didn't," Eames interjects quickly. He places the pan of sliced pizza in the middle of the table. While he rids himself of the oven mitt Arthur distributes the slices. He makes an appreciative noise as he chews and Eames grins. "Told you I was good."

He is too busy chewing to give anything more than a narrow eyed look.

* * *

Eames puts the disc in and skips ahead to the menu screen. He presses select, waits a moment for the now familiar scream and teeth chomp before he sets the remote down. Phillipa and James sit at the coffee table eating banana sundaes; James has chocolate syrup on his, Phillipa's is topped in half a pint of whipped cream.

Eames retreats into the safety of the kitchen. "Leave mine whole," Eames murmurs when he notices Arthur about to slice into a banana. Arthur looks at him over his shoulder.

"You'll have to cut it to eat it you realize."

"Maybe." He winks and then boosts himself onto the counter top. "The ankle biters are watching the dinosaur movie again. I put paper towels under their bowls for you; hopefully it'll save the wood."

"I can only dream," Arthur responds wryly. He raises the syrup bottle at Eames and he nods in response. "Whipped cream?" he asks as he caps the chocolate syrup.

"I can think of better things-"

"To use it for, I know. But _no_." Eames huffs and mutters a yes. "Bon appetite." He slides the bowl over to Eames and then puts away the condiments. Eames grins as Arthur returns. "Spoke with Cobb."

"I know." He digs into the whipped cream first. Arthur makes a face and manages to get a spoonful of everything, even half a banana slice. "How are they?"

"Mal's unconscious and stable, Cobb's not himself."

"Hm." He pats the spot next to him and smiles enticingly around a spoonful of whipped cream. Arthur rolls his eyes but boosts himself up next to him effortlessly. He winces and sets the bowl down. "What?"

Arthur shifts and pulls out a small object. "Sat on Phillipa's ring," he grumbles. Eames laughs and leans his head back against the cabinet. "It's not funny, it hurt."

"I could kiss it and make it better if you want."

"Eat your ice cream, Mr. Eames," Arthur admonishes. He eyes the ring before setting it on the shelf over the sink. "Why did you get her the broken one anyway?"

"She told me she liked yellow. If it changed color she might not like it as much."

"She might like it more later."

Eames shrugs. His shoulder bumps Arthur's. "She might, then again she might not. Doesn't really matter though, point is she's happy and likes it now."

Arthur nods and then hits Eames' spoon when he tries to steal some of Arthur's whipped cream. "You finished yours off already?" Eames nods and tries to make another pass, this time with his finger while the spoon serves as a distraction. Arthur sighs and lets him. "What does yellow mean anyway? Mood ring wise."

Eames sucks the cream off his index finger and smiles. "Imaginative, fitting right?"

Arthur smiles back and does a counter attack on Eames' chocolate ice cream. "Yeah, it fits."


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 7/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary**: In which Eames is lost, the children sleep, and Arthur is not pleased.

**Author's Note**: Here's chapter seven. Thanks to everyone who is reading it. :)

* * *

The kids are sound asleep when they check on them. Eames shuts off the DVD player and TV. "Should we leave them here?"

Arthur shakes his head. "No, we should move them to the bed. The sofa gets hot." Eames smiles lazily as he hoists Phillipa and the caterpillar up. She mumbles and her arm smacks him in the face. Arthur hides a smile and picks up James. "Their pajamas are on the end of the bed."

Eames blinks at Arthur's back. "We've got to change them?"

Arthur pauses and turns to look at him. "Yes, we aren't going to let them sleep in their clothes." His eyebrows draw together. "Why? You've changed them before."

"Not when they're _asleep_," Eames protests. Arthur shakes his head at the other man. "Arthur," Eames hisses. But Arthur's heading to the office. Eames curses and follows; Phillipa's feet bounce off his left knee as he walks.

When he enters the office Arthur has James laid out on the bed. He's already removed James's shorts and is deftly sliding on his space ship pajama pants. Eames lays Phillipa out next to her brother. She mumbles and tightens her hand around one of the caterpillar's antenna.

He glances over his shoulder to see Arthur sitting up James and rubbing pink lotion on his skin. James doesn't even stir. Eames turns back to Phillipa and removes her tights carefully. Her face scrunches and she kicks out and he jerks back to avoid another hit to the face. Arthur chuckles as he finishes pulling the spaceship shirt over James's head.

"Oh, very funny," Eames grumbles.

"Move over," Arthur replies.

He nudges Eames out of the way and takes over. Eames watches with interest as Arthur extracts the caterpillar from Phillipa's hand. He sits her up, half cradling her against his chest. He murmurs to her, soft French words interspersed with quiet English. The words are too soft for him to make out but he knows they're meant to comfort and soothe. She doesn't hit him, Eames notes ruefully, so it must be working. In two minutes Arthur has her in a pink night dress. A minute later and she's being tucked in next to James, the caterpillar once again in her grasp.

"See, nothing too hard," Arthur murmurs as he folds the clothes. Eames leans against the wall and watches Arthur set them on the desk. He chokes on a laugh when he sees the look Arthur gives James's shirt when he spots the drip of tomato sauce.

"Come on," Eames chuckles. He grabs Arthur's arm and tugs him out of the room. Arthur makes a startled noise but closes the door partway. Eames turns and pins him between the door to the bathroom and the door to the master bedroom. "Where did you learn to do that?"

It takes two seconds for Arthur's frown to become a smile. He leans back against the wall and hitches his shoulders up in a semblance of a shrug. "I had three younger siblings."

Eames frowns. "Had?"

"Have. We just don't talk anymore." He pushes around Eames. "Should I get the sofa ready for you?"

"You're kidding?" Arthur doesn't pause or turn around. "Right? Arthur, Arthur!" he hisses.

* * *

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Eames growls. Arthur scowls when he sees Eames sprawled across his bed.

"I locked that door," he replies calmly.

"And I unlocked it. Can we get back to the matter at hand now, please?" Arthur ignores him. He finishes toweling off his hair and hangs the towel on the shower door. Eames twists so he can watch Arthur move around the bathroom, pajama bottoms slung low on his hips and hair sticking up at odd angles. "I hate your sofa."

Arthur snorts. "I've seen you sleep there plenty of times before. Not to mention the lawn chairs at the office."

Eames sits up, glares at Arthur's reflection in the mirror. Arthur seems unaffected as he pulls out the floss. "I get paid to sleep in those lawn chairs. I am not getting paid to sleep on your sofa!" He conveniently neglects to acknowledge Arthur's first argument.

The faucet turns on and Eames groans as Arthur begins to brush his teeth. "Are you still mad about that last job, then? Is this some form of prolonged punishment?" He pushes off the bed and goes to lean against the counter next to Arthur. "I never took you to be petty."

Arthur spits into the sink and glares at Eames' reflection. "There is a _stain_ on my ceiling, Eames."

"Oh."

"Oh? As eloquent as ever." He goes back to furiously brushing. Eames edges away in case Arthur gets the urge to stab the toothbrush someplace unpleasant. He doesn't doubt Arthur would even hesitate.

"I tried to get Phillipa to clean it," he protests. Arthur's head jerks up and he stares at Eames, green toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. It would be comical if Eames wasn't sure that toothbrush could double as a deadly weapon with no warning. Eames fights off the smile and moves to lean against the wall instead. Safer, Arthur will have to move more to get at him. "I lifted her up and she wiped at the spot. I thought we did a pretty good job of it too. You didn't notice during dinner."

"I didn't want to say anything in front of the children," he mutters. He turns away once more and rinses his toothbrush. Eames watches as he scoops a handful of water into his mouth.

"Well, it didn't stick; it just…went up a bit higher than anticipated. I don't see how this translates to me being sentenced to Siberia."

"It's just the sofa." He turns off the sink and looks at Eames. "Did you even bring anything with you?"

"Thought you might still have my stuff from last time." Eames' eyes narrow. "Was I wrong?"

"No," he admits after a prolonged moment. He jerks his chin in the direction of the closet. "I put away the clothes and your toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet. There's an extra towel on that shelf if you need it. Good night, Eames."

* * *

Arthur grumbles as the bed dips low. "This isn't the sofa."

"Didn't think you were really serious," Eames murmurs. His arm slips around Arthur cautiously. Arthur mutters and burrows under the covers. Eames exhales a breathy laugh. His breath smells like Arthur's spearmint toothpaste, his hair like the ocean scented shampoo in his shower. Arthur moves closer. "I really am sorry for the degradation of your ceiling. After the children go home I'll happily repaint it if you want."

Arthur slings an arm across Eames' chest. His hand moves upward, fingers tickling his neck and scratching at his jaw. Finally he presses a finger to Eames' mouth and mutters something unintelligible. "What was that, Arthur?" Eames asks. He can't resist licking Arthur's finger.

Arthur smirks into Eames' shoulder as the forger grunts when Arthur hits him in the stomach. "Go to sleep, Mr. Eames," he sighs.

Eames smiles into the dark as his fingers thread into Arthur's hair. He can feel Arthur relax against him, breathing already evening out into a steady in-out. "Good night," he whispers into his hair. He thinks he can feel Arthur's mouth curve into a smile even in sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 8/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James

**Summary**: In which Eames cooks (again), James inhales, Phillipa is sick, and Arthur is tired.

**Author's Note**: Part Eight. Thanks to everyone who is reading it. :)

* * *

He wakes to Eames' arm across his waist, fingers curled against his stomach. The clock reads 3:20 on the bedside table. He lays still a moment, trying to figure out what woke him. A hand reaches out and grasps his arm, nails biting into his skin. He reaches out and flips on the light low. Phillipa stands in front of him, her face pale and eyes blinking in the sudden light. "Pip?" he asks softly.

"Uncle Arthur, I don't feel good," she groans. His hand moves to push aside her sweaty bangs and feel her clammy forehead.

"What's wrong?"

"My tummy feels funny." Her face pales more and he has just enough time to jerk aside before she's throwing up all over his hardwood floor.

"Hare or ou owing?" Eames mumbles sleepily.

"Come again?" Arthur questions. He rubs circles into Phillipa's back as she empties her stomach. Her nightgown sticks to her back and she chokes on sobs. "It's okay," he murmurs to her. He raises his voice for Eames, "what did you say? I thought it was just your spelling that was terrible."

Eames growls before he pushes himself up onto one elbow. His face is lined from the seam of the pillowcase and there's evidence of prior drool. "One bloody time. My spelling is impeccable." He seems to notice that Arthur is crouched on the floor with Phillipa. Or he notices the smell. "What's going on?"

"Phillipa's sick. Go back to sleep." He waits until Phillipa stops heaving before he picks her up. "Let's get you cleaned up." Eames groans and rubs at his face with a hand while Arthur carries Phillipa into the bathroom. He sets her down in the bathtub and strips off her dirty clothes. "Do you think you're going to throw up again?"

"No," she mumbles. Her face is pale with red blotches and she sniffs miserably. "I'm sorry, Uncle Arthur."

"It's okay, Pip," he murmurs. He tousles her hair before turning on the water. "Just sit here for a few minutes while I clean up the floor." She nods and he grabs cleaning supplies from under the sink. He leaves the door open as he grabs the trash can and goes back into the bedroom.

Eames is already cleaning up the mess with paper towels from the kitchen. Arthur pauses to smile. Eames glances up and catches him watching, smiles ruefully. "Hope you brought Clorox and Lysol. How is she?"

"Not throwing up anymore," Arthur responds. "You didn't have to clean."

"Course I did." He wrinkles his nose as he looks at Arthur. "Some of it got on you too." Arthur groans and sinks down onto the bed. He watches Eames dump the paper towels into the garbage can and scrub the floor with the Clorox wipes. "You'll want to change," Eames prods.

"I will," Arthur agrees. "After I get Phillipa taken care of." He looks at the clock, 3:52. Another groan and then he hears Phillipa calling. He grabs the can and makes it back in time for Phillipa to empty the rest of her stomach into it. "Come on," he murmurs.

He grabs a towel and wraps her in it. She shudders as he pulls her out of the tub and shuts off the water. He keeps her bundled as he makes his way to the office to scrounge up another set of clothes. "I'm sorry, Uncle Arthur," Phillipa whispers drowsily in his ear.

He tries to reassure her but she's already slipping back into sleep.

* * *

Eames wakes to sunlight spilling through the gaps in the blinds and accosting his eyes. He mutters under his breath and shifts. It's hot in the bed and there's something tickling his nose. He thinks its Arthur hand on his hip too. Eames rubs at his face with a hand before sitting up. Phillipa is sprawled between him and Arthur. Her hair is still damp from the early morning bath and her skin looks pale in the early morning light.

Arthur is still asleep, twisted in an uncomfortable looking pose. He's on his back but has one arm thrown across Phillipa, hand resting against Eames' stomach now. Eames smiles faintly as he looks at the dark circles under Arthur's eyes. Eames knows Arthur had gotten up at least twice more with Phillipa. He leans over and brushes Arthur's dark hair back. He doesn't even stir and Eames grins.

He gets up and makes his way to check on James. He's sound asleep still, spread eagled on the bed with the blankets tangled around his legs. Eames heads to the kitchen and begins to assemble the necessary ingredients for a surprise breakfast. He hums as he pours the prepared batter into the pan fifteen minutes later. He wonders if Phillipa will be up to eating.

He's just finishing the first batch of pancakes when Arthur stumbles into the kitchen. Eames points to the coffee pot as he takes a sip from his tea. Arthur nods gratefully and pours himself a healthy serving. After taking a long sip he sighs, and turns back to Eames. "You're cooking. Again."

"As observant as ever," Eames drawls. He flips a pancake and he might be showing off, just a little, as he catches it in the pan. "I'm thinking scrambled eggs as well, to help settle Pippa's stomach."

Arthur nods slowly, like he's still processing the fact that Eames is cooking breakfast. "And dry toast." He busies himself popping the bread in the toaster and setting the table. He stops and inhales another gulp of coffee.

"What time did you get back to sleep?"

"Sometime around five thirty," he mutters.

"Cobb owes you big time for this," Eames replies. He slides the pancake onto a waiting pan and pours more batter in. "Want to start on the eggs or go wake the children?"

"The eggs, they're easier." Eames laughs and chokes on the tea he's drinking. Arthur smiles wryly.

* * *

Phillipa has two bites of the toast and one of the eggs before she's in the bathroom again. James inhales six pancakes, what's probably the equivalent of three eggs, and half his sister's toast. He demands more pancakes while Arthur goes to check on Phillipa. Eames gives him a long look and then shrugs.

"At least you haven't lost your appetite, Jamie." He stacks two more pancakes on his plate and drizzles more syrup over them. James falls onto them like he hasn't eaten in weeks once Eames is finished cutting them up. "Chew, Jamie."

Arthur returns, without Phillipa, and gives Eames a dirty look. Eames raises his eyebrows as Arthur sits at the table. "Do you want him to be sick too?" He drinks from his second cup of coffee. "That's it, James. No more after this."

"How's Pippa?"

"I've got her tucked into bed again. Her fever's back." Eames tsks under his breath. "I'm going to call Cobb to let him know in a bit."

James pauses mid inhalation. "Daddy's name is Dom. Dom Cobb," he recites.

"Yes, it is," Arthur responds.

"Not Cobb," James persists.

"You're absolutely right, Jamie," Eames replies. He ruffles James' blonde hair. "Finish up and then you can go watch some cartoons. How're the spots?"

"A little bit itchy," he answers. Eames nods in understanding.

"At least they're just a little itchy," Eames soothes.

"I'll put more lotion on when you're done," Arthur murmurs. He muffles a yawn and takes another drink of coffee.

"I'm done," James announces. He bounces off the seat and leaves half a pancake behind. They watch as he goes into the living room. A moment later they hear him fumbling with the remote, and then the TV starts up.

"I hope you left it on something decent," Arthur says.

"Your faith in me is as heartwarming as always, Arthur." He gets up though and goes to change the channel. Arthur finishes his coffee and sets about collecting the dishes. "Think she's getting the chickenpox?" Eames asks when he returns.

"Probably," Arthur agrees. "It usually started with a fever." He rinses the dishes before stacking them neatly in the dishwasher. Eames leans against the counter and stares at him. "What?"

"Nothing." He hesitates a moment and Arthur's ready to question him again. "I'll be with Jamie," he says finally. He brushes past Arthur even though there's plenty of space to move around. Arthur pauses to watch him leave before returning to the mess at hand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 9/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb

**Summary**: In which Eames is a bad influence, James is supposed to entertain, Phillipa is still sick, Cobb is upset, and Arthur is _very_annoyed.

**Author's Note**: Part Nine! Thanks to everyone who is reading it. :)

* * *

"How's Mal?" he asks as soon as the connection takes.

"She's regained consciousness. We're waiting on a psychologist to come down and speak with her. After he declares her sane we can leave." He sounds relieved. Arthur ignores the way his stomach clenches.

"Are you sure he will?" Arthur asks softly.

He hears Cobb's breathing become harsher before evening out again. "How can you ask that?" His voice is scratchy and raw and Arthur's stomach tightens some more. "It's _Mal_, Arthur. She wouldn't…she's had trouble with sleeping and dreaming."

"I thought she couldn't dream anymore," Arthur pushes. "Cobb…Dom, are you _sure_ it was an accident. I saw her after her accident with the knife."

"How are the kids?" Cobb asks and Arthur knows he pushed too far.

"Phillipa's sick now. I've got her resting in bed. Eames is probably corrupting James as we speak." There's a long stretch of silence and Arthur frowns. "That was a joke, Cobb."

"Huh? Oh, I know. I was just wondering what Eames was doing there, meant to ask earlier. I thought you weren't speaking to him after the last job." Arthur frowns, memories of the bad forgery leading to Eames' disappearing act for eight months with no word coming to mind. Not that he'd expected word or anything. "Not that you two ever spoke much before." His voice is becoming lighter now, losing the edge as he settles into something safer.

"I thought you sent him."

"No."

"Well, he won't tell me," Arthur grumbles. "And we did speak, we do speak."

Cobb laughs; it's a strange sound after the past day – has it really only been a day? "You two fight like dogs, all bark and some bite. Always bickering and snapping at each other." Arthur starts to protest. "I've got to go, the doctor's coming. Tell the kids hi and I hope they feel better. I'll call you later."

"Yeah, okay. Tell Mal hi."

Arthur starts to flip the phone shut when he hears Cobb's voice again. "Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Cobb says quietly.

He wants to say something in response but can't. Arthur disconnects and shoves the phone into his pocket.

* * *

"If I see another talking animal it'll be too soon," Eames growls. Arthur pauses in unpacking the groceries and looks at him, eyebrow quirked. "What took you so long? I thought you were just going for a couple things, even though I went yesterday and got everything on your bloody list."

"Stop whining, there was a line." Arthur shoves the potatoes into his arms. "How are the children, _dear_?"

Eames narrows his eyes. "Very funny. Ha-ha-ha. You're a right riot all of a sudden, huh?"

"Always," Arthur deadpans. He points to the sink. "Wash them, please."

"The children are the same as you left them. Phillipa's in bed, bored. I gave her those disgusting crackers you had in the cupboard and then she was in the bathroom. Still no spots though. James and I watched that dinosaur movie again, I put more lotion on him, and we played with some remote car Cobb packed in that bag." He stops and flips on the faucet.

Arthur frowns and looks at him. He's crouched down looking for the correct size pot for the stove. "What did you just mumble?"

"I owe you a new vase." Eames can _feel_ the glare on the back of his neck. "You know the one that, uh, used to be on the coffee table? It might have been crystal-"

"I know the vase, what the hell happened to it?"

"Two-year-olds and remote control cars are not conducive?" Eames suggests weakly. He scrubs at the potato in hand. "Tell me where you got it and I'll replace it."

"It was my great-grandmother's."

"Oh," Eames mumbles. "I'm sorry."

"Where's James now?"

"Trying to play with Phillipa in the office." Arthur sets the pot on the counter and nudges Eames out of the way. "Can I help?"

"Did you clean the broken glass?"

"Yes."

"Then no." He finishes washing the potatoes and starts on the leeks.

* * *

The soup is boiling on the stove and Eames has James out on the small balcony. When Arthur checks on them he sees they're tossing water balloons over the edge to the ground below. He hopes they check to make sure no one's walking beneath before letting go. By the way Eames says "duck" and pulls James off the chair, he doesn't think so.

James and Eames trip over each other as well as themselves as they hurry inside. Arthur presses his lips together to hide the smile and focuses on the soup. "Have fun soaking my neighbors?" he calls.

"Lots!" James announces. "Eames hit one with a _big_ balloon."

"Lovely," Arthur mutters. "Who should I send a gift basket to in apology?"

"Do you really send gift baskets?" Eames questions. "With a card and everything? _Terribly sorry about the balloon soaking_. They make those?"

"I may need to be inventive, but it's the sentiment that matters," Arthur snaps. He stiffens as Eames drapes an arm around his shoulders. "What do you want?"

"In a bit of a tiff, are we now?" Eames leans over to sniff at the soup. "Smells great," he says.

"James, will you go and entertain your sister for a bit," Arthur asks. James looks at them with squinty eyes, eerily reminiscent of Cobb's own look. He shrugs and scampers off to the office, scratching at his arm. Arthur turns slowly to face Eames. "What do you want, Eames? What are you doing here? No jokes, no jibes, no vague truths. Just tell me."

Eames leans back slightly and studies Arthur for a moment. "Maybe I want to know more about these siblings of yours."

"You didn't even know I had siblings before last night!" Arthur hisses. He runs a hand through his hair and the gel he uses to subdue the curls makes it stick up like the quills on a porcupine. Eames smiles and reaches out to touch it, he isn't sure if he means to mess it up further or smooth it down. Arthur doesn't give him the chance to find out as he bats away Eames' hands. "_Why_ are you here?"

Eames pushes into him then, pins him against the oven. The door handle presses sharply against Arthur's back. "I _missed_ you, idiot," he whispers. "There isn't a job, I'm not on the run – except maybe from your neighbor two floors down, and believe it or not I'm not trying to ransack your apartment. Despite prior incidents."

"Now is not the time to bring up what you've done to the apartment," Arthur very nearly growls. His hands move to Eames' shoulders. They fist in the orange material, uncertain of what action to take. "You'll need something good to make up for the ceiling alone." His eyes dart to the spot beyond Eames' head.

"Forget the damn ceiling!" He leans in closer. "I thought you would understand by now but maybe I should speak a little slower? My father always said Americans were awful dense when -"

Arthur's mouth presses against his, stopping the flow of words. Eames grins and kisses back, harsh and warm with a clash of tongues and the nip of teeth. "Always know how to shut me up, huh, Darling?" Eames teases.

Arthur snorts and kisses him again, softer this time. "Why change what works?"

"Does this mean I'm off the hook for the ceiling?" he murmurs against Arthur's mouth.

"No. Now move, the soup's boiling over." He pushes Eames back and there's a curl of a smile on his face. "I missed you too," he whispers as he moves toward the stove. Eames grins triumphantly when Arthur's back is turned.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 10/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb

**Summary**: In which Eames has lost his mind (and an eye), James doesn't want to go home, Phillipa makes faces, and Arthur is obtains future blackmail potential.

**Author's Note**: Part Ten! Thanks to everyone who is reading it. :)

* * *

Phillipa makes faces at the soup in front of her. "I don't like the green stuff," she repeats for the third time.

"They're called leeks," Arthur explains, again.

"I don't want leeks. I don't like soup." She eyes James' peanut butter sandwich wistfully. "I want a sandwich."

"You can't have a sandwich until you stop throwing up. This will settle your stomach." She picks up the spoon and empties it back into the bowl. Arthur sighs. "Just eat the potatoes in it and drink some of the broth, okay?"

"Then a sandwich?"

"No," Eames interrupts. "You can have a sandwich if the soup stays down. And the crackers after that." Phillipa huffs but obediently begins picking out the bits of sliced potato.

"James, no scratching," Arthur orders.

Eames bumps their knees together under the table and Arthur fights to suppress his smile. "Uncle Arthur, when are we going home?" Phillipa asks.

Arthur forces the smile forward and looks at her. "Soon, Pip. Your daddy hopes it will be soon."

James stuffs his sandwich into his mouth. "I dun wanna go home," he mumbles around a mouthful of peanut butter.

* * *

Eames has lost his mind, Arthur thinks fondly.

He leans against the doorframe, an amused smile firmly in place. Eames is bouncing around the office with Phillipa's orange scarf tied around his head and pulled down over one eye. He's using the umbrella from the hall as some kind of sword or staff and his accent seems to have deepened in the ten minutes Arthur has been watching.

Phillipa and James are on the pull out sofa, laughing so hard they're almost doubled over. Phillipa has tears on her face and James' smile stretches from ear to ear. Silently Arthur retrieves the video camera from his room and returns, camera on and recording. Eames looks up and grins when he sees him, but he doesn't break character.

"Back, back beast!" Eames hollers. He swings the umbrella at the caterpillar. It somehow gets wrapped around the umbrella and Eames growls at it. "Get off my sword, you sniveling, cowardly, Lepidoptera!"

Arthur raises his eyebrows and his mouth twists into a wider grin. James stops laughing and stares at Eames. "What's a leopard terror?"

"It's a type of insect," Arthur supplies.

"That's a caterpillar!" Phillipa protests.

Eames crouches by the bed, sword and beast forgotten on the desk chair. "Right you are, Pippa. The Lepidoptera are sneaky blighters though. Disguise themselves as harmless caterpillars. Can't turn your back on them ever."

He ruffles her hair as Arthur makes his way stealthily toward the abandoned toy. While they're distracted he calmly picks up the caterpillar and returns to his post at the door. When he's sure Eames is still going on about the tricks of the caterpillars and their various disguises, Arthur tosses the caterpillar at Eames' back. It lands on his head.

Eames lets out a yell and proceeds to fall backwards. His arms flail about and Arthur's laughing so hard he almost drops the camera. Phillipa and James scream and duck under the covers. Arthur watches as suddenly the toy is airborne and Eames goes _leaping_ after it. The scarf has twisted and the knot is now over his eye, the ends fanning out on the side. The kids poke their heads out, laughing once again. Eames wrestles the caterpillar into submission and locks it in the roll down desk.

Arthur shakes his head, shuts off the camera, and leaves while Eames is still bowing.

* * *

"I think you've seen the movie with the weasel too many times," Arthur murmurs. Eames shrugs as he finishes tucking the kids in for their nap. "What were you even doing?"

"Having fun, using my imagination." He stretches as he exits the office. "Nice job with the attacking caterpillar."

"I've always found it difficult to resist the impulse to hit you with something," Arthur agrees. Eames sneers in response and Arthur smiles. "You know you can remove the scarf now, right?"

"You don't think it makes me look dashing?"

"No, I don't." He grunts as Eames grabs his shoulder and spins him around before shoving him against the wall. His head narrowly misses clipping the heavy mirror hanging next to him. "Do you have to keep slamming me against things?"

Eames smirks. "I like you pinned," he replies simply. He leans in and Arthur almost goes cross eyed staring at the fuzzy orange scarf around Eames' head. "All adventurers wear eye patches," Eames adds.

"I am not kissing you with that thing on," Arthur tells him firmly. He easily breaks the hold and Eames sighs forlornly, leaning against the wall. "You'll have better luck with the caterpillar."

"I am not kissing an insect," Eames protests. He checks his reflection and tilts his head this way and that. "What do you think of this as a new disguise?"

"You'll be shot in two seconds," Arthur grumbles.

"Thank you for your contribution, Arthur." He removes the scarf though, leaves it on the small table under the mirror. "I'm getting one of those cookies you made, want one?"

"Sure." He trails Eames into the kitchen and waits for him to take out two of the cookies from the bowl.

"How long you think they'll sleep? I'm knackered after last night," Eames sighs. He sinks into a chair, feet propped on the one next to it. Arthur shrugs as he sits on his right.

"I don't know. The medicine I gave Phillipa should knock her out though." He leans back, chair balanced on two legs. Eames eyes it. "Don't even think about it."


	11. Chapter 11

**Title**: Yellow

**Chapter**: 11/11

**Rating**: PG

**Pairing**/**Characters**: Arthur/Eames, Phillipa, Mal, James, Cobb

**Summary**: In which Eames makes Arthur moan, James learns a new game, Phillipa kills Elmo, Mal and Cobb pick up their children and Arthur is unconvinced.

**Author's Note**: This is the end of this fic. The first part of the sequel is almost finished, and pretty much it's just a continuation of this set at a later date so it's not really that it's ending, right? Thanks to everyone who read it. :)

* * *

"You tired?" Eames asks softly. Arthur stifles a yawn and shakes his head. "Liar." He ruffles Arthur's hair. Arthur snorts and leans into him despite his best efforts not to.

"I'm not," he pauses to yawn, "tired."

"Course not." Eames lowers the volume on the TV and drapes an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Why don't you rest though, you hardly slept last night. And not for the good reasons either."

Arthur's elbow connects with Eames' ribs. Eames lets out a yelp and Arthur pulls away. "You're hopeless." He lays back, head on the armrest and feet in Eames' lap. "I never should have let you in."

"Oh, but you always do," Eames responds. He waggles his eyebrows and Arthur mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "God help me." Eames laughs low and sets about massaging the feet in his lap. Arthur lifts his head slightly to look at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get you to relax. Now be a good lad and take your nap." He moves before Arthur can kick him in the face. His fingers curl around the instep of Arthur's right foot, press in deep, and Arthur actually lets his head fall back as he moans. Eames' smile turns satisfied and Arthur doesn't care anymore. "Did you say something, Arthur? I could use a bit more specificity."

"Shut-up," Arthur barks. He presses his foot into Eames' hand, eyes closing. Eames grins.

"As you wish."

* * *

"You have to be careful, okay?"

These are not words Arthur generally likes hearing upon waking, as a matter of principal. And because he's had prior experience with Eames' influences. His eyes open slowly. The room is lit with a dull grey light. He's sprawled out across the sofa, one arm hanging over the edge. Someone, probably Eames, threw a blanket over him while he slept. It's now tangled around his calves.

"You're gonna break it!" Phillipa whines.

Her voice snaps him out of his foggy sleep state and he sat up. "Eames..." he trails off, eyes wide.

Eames smiles innocently up at him. "Something the matter?"

"What, what is all this?" He stops, cranes his neck to look around the small living room. There are small tiles lined up _everywhere_. White ones with black dots, black ones with white dots, even red ones with white dots. "_Where_ did you get all the dominoes?"

Eames' smile grows. "I made a quick trip to a shop while you were passed out."

"I was not passed out." He folds the blanket and watches as Eames carefully instructs the kids on proper domino etiquette. Outside the window he can see clouds have rolled in, heavy with rain. Distantly he can make out thunder.

"Wanna help, Uncle Arthur?" Phillipa asks. "James is scratching again!" she announces.

"James, do you need more lotion?"

"No! I wanna make a squiggle." Eames laughs, lies on his stomach and guides James' mitten covered hands in the proper arrangement.

* * *

James runs to his parents when Eames opens the door. Cobb grabs him up, grins at him. Arthur stands slowly and gestures for Phillipa to turn off the television. She does, reluctantly, and Elmo is shut off finally. Mal looks pale, with dark circles around her eyes and a wavering smile.

"Phillipa, ma chère, come here," she says. Phillipa hangs back a moment longer before hurrying into her mother's embrace.

James wriggles in his father's arms, reaches for Mal. "Mommy, look what we made. We made something cool." Cobb sets him down and James grabs his mother's hand, tows her into the living room where the dominoes are still set up.

They curl out, climb a stack of books, fan out across the coffee table, slide down an inverted cookie tray, and continue on in branching formations. There have to be at least two hundred dominoes in his living room and he has no idea what to do with them after. Mal kneels, with a child on each side, as they show her which parts they made and which parts Eames did.

Arthur notices the scar on the inside of her left wrist, neatly connecting three needle marks, when she points to a blossom of red dominoes. Cobb follows his gaze from where he stands next to Eames. "An accident."

"Sometimes accidents are more than that," Eames murmurs. Phillipa tugs on Mal's hand, pulls her around the sofa to see where she spelled her name in black tiles. "The doctors say anything?"

"No," Cobb replies. His voice is razor sharp. "Thank you, both, for watching them. I know they had fun."

"Anytime," Arthur replies. "Dom-"

Cobb looks at him and for just a moment he sees the flash of pain before it's buried in a sea of blue. "I'm going to take a rest, stay home with Mal and the children for awhile. She needs a break."

Eames rests a hand on Cobb's shoulder. "You need either of us, you call."

"I will." He's looking back at his family though and they both know he's lying.

"Daddy!" James calls. He lifts his face, smiling.

"Daddy, come on, we're going to set them off!" Phillipa adds. Cobb smiles as he goes to join them. One hand rests on Mal's shoulder, rubs reassuringly at her neck.

James pushes the white domino that starts his name and Phillipa pushes the black one at the start of hers. They all watch as the dominoes fall one by one. It's silent except for the clicking of the tiles hitting each other, the scrape as they land on the floor.

When it's done, Mal calmly spins her top in the middle of the destruction.


End file.
